Rick and I snuck out of the party and spent the rest of the night loitering around the city. When he admitted that he's never been to any of the tourist spots, I couldn't accept it. As a full blooded New Yorker, it was my duty to show him what he was missing out on.
I dragged him to every iconic building, looked at exhibits at the Met, and ate at all the best restaurants in Chinatown according to TripAdvisor and by midnight, our last stop was Carnegie Hall. My favorite place in the city.
"I don't think it's open," Rick said as we got out of the cab.
"Don't worry. I know a guy."
"Is there anywhere you don't know anyone?" he muttered incredulously.
I thought for a moment before shaking my head. "Nah. I pretty much know everybody."
He chuckled. "Of course you do."
I walked up to the guard and he grinned when he caught sight of me.
"I was just thinkin' 'bout you."
"Don't ya always?"
He laughed, spreading his arms and I threw myself at him. He caught me, squeezing me in his arms.
"Never thought I'd see you here again, kid."
"Me neither."
"Glad you're back." He sighed, setting me down before turning to face Rick. "Hi. Stevie." He held out hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Rick," he replied, taking Stevie's hand and shaking it. "You too."
"Stevie's been the night shift guard for... how long has it been? Eighteen years?"
He grinned, tipping his hat. "Turnin' nineteen this October."
"Wow. That's amazing," Rick said in awe.
"If you're ever throwing a barbeque, you gotta call this guy," I said, slapping Stevie's back lightly. "He's got stories to last a lifetime and it doesn't hurt he makes a kickass sauce."
"The secret is sauteed spices," he whispered to Rick conspiratorially.
I chuckled. "So, Stevie, I was wondering if I could brag to Rick about my old stomping ground."
"It ain't bragging if it's the deadass truth. There's no one better to show you how music should sound like than this girl right here," he said proudly as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "I had the pleasure of being her first audience when she was practicing for President Bush's inauguration. Can you believe that? I got to see her before the President of the country!"
I rolled my eyes. "Don't you ever get sick of telling that story?"
"You kidding me? It's a crowd favorite!"
"You gotta tell me the story," Rick gushed excitedly.
"Next time, maybe," I said, taking his arm. "Stevie, you mind?"
He shook his head, going to the entrance. "You know you're welcome through these doors any time, kid," he said as he pushed the doors open.
I smiled. "Thanks, Stevie."
I guided Rick through the hall, feeling a sense of melancholia as familiarity set in. The auditorium was as grand as I remembered it to be, exuding elegance from its dauntingly high ceilings to the balcony seats wrapping around the parquet.
I slipped my shoes off, letting Rick's jacket that he had lent to me slide down my shoulders as I slowly padded down the aisle towards the stage.
I was flooded with memories of myself sitting at the center of the stage and playing the piano for hours on end, trying to perfect every piece the great Beethoven had composed.
Every day after school, I would have the hall all to myself and when a few hours wasn't enough anymore, I would sneak out of the mansion and come here in the middle of the night to play.
At first, Stevie would just shoo me off and I would have to bring him a bribe of sorts to let me in; tickets to a Yankees game, courtside seats to every Knicks game for the season, free healthcare. Once, I got his daughter The Plaza for her wedding, buying me access to the auditorium at all hours for six months.
But the privilege of being able to perform in this hall was priceless and there was not a day from age six to fifteen that I didn't come here. This was the place that molded me as a musician and gave me confidence in my talents. It was unbelievable that it's been five years since I last set foot on this stage, let alone touch an instrument.
"Talk about deja vu," I heard Rick say, his voice filling the empty hall.
I turned to face him and found him sitting in the middle of the tenth row.
"I was sitting right here." He smiled, looking at me as if remembering a fond memory. "There were at least five hundred people but when you walked onstage and started playing the most beautiful piece of music I've ever heard, it was like the rest of the world just faded away."
"Beethoven's Piano Sonata No.10 in G major," I murmured, rubbing my fingers as the phantom feeling of ivory brushing against my skin tingled my nerves. "The day before the concert, I read an article about me where the writer called me a mediocre pianist and challenged me to play that piece to show if I was actually the genius everyone claimed me to be." I chuckled. "What the idiot didn't know was that piece was the first composition I ever played on the piano and I knew every note by heart because it was my grandfather's favorite piece of music."
"You were amazing," he said as he made his way towards the stage. "I wanted to meet you that night."
"Yeah? Why didn't you?"
He smiled wryly. "Jude and I were heading backstage to congratulate you, but then, people started throwing Molotov cocktails all over the place. And you were dancing on stage while everything went up in flames."
I grimaced. "Ah, right. I had to teach kids music for an entire summer cuz of that stunt."
"That was the only time I ever had to run from police. All because of you, you little arsonist."
"Aw, that's sweet."
He pulled himself up the stage and stood at the center with me.
"Must have been terrifying," he said as he looked out into the empty seats. "Sitting in front of the piano and having so many people watching you, listening to every note you played."
"No. It was peaceful," I said as I sat down on the floor, remembering all those times I would just start playing whatever instrument I had at hand. "Music was my solace from the chaos in my life and I like to think that the people who came to my performances found temporary relief from whatever shit they were dealing with through my music. I guess that's why I never felt comfortable signing with a record label, I didn't like the idea of playing music that didn't resonate with what I was feeling at that moment. All the record executives wanted from me were the concertos I was known for and whenever I played anything that diverted from that, they would reject it saying 'it doesn't sound like Angel Lastor', as if I was incapable of feeling anything else." I scoffed. "What a bunch of frauds."
He sat beside me, tilting his head. "So how come you stopped playing?"
"You know why."
"You mean your grandfather?"
I nodded in reponse.
"It's understandable you would grieve terribly for the death of someone who was a major part of your life, but I believe music is an even bigger part of you. It's not something you could ever let go of unless you physically can't anymore and even then, knowing how stubborn you can be, you'll find a way to create music somehow." He looked at me. "You're so closed off and always keep everyone around you at arms length, so it doesn't make sense why you would willingly stand in front of an audience and bare your heart and soul for them. But you only did it for your grandfather, didn't you?"
I managed to smile. "Gramps was a cynical man. He always questioned everything and believed there was an explanation for the inexplicable. The likelihood of a toddler without prior training being able to perfectly perform a Beethoven piece through exposure was just impossible, borderline unbelievable. So he made it a mission to uncover the reason why I was the way I was." I laughed, shaking my head. "He had my entire genetic make up tested so many times and conducted experiments in the pretense of 'training' me. He claimed I was his greatest discovery and he often joked that he would outlive me just so he can examine my brain more thoroughly. But then, a few years after my grandmother died, he finished his research and made me read it. It was nearly three thousand pages long and on the last page, he wrote one single sentence." I smiled, looking at him. "Conclusion; Little Angel will save lives through music."
He smiled back at me. "So you started performing."
"He claimed listening to my music helped him recover from Gammy's death and he somehow convinced himself it was the reason why I was born with my talent. To take away people's pain. Ridiculous, I know, but I figured if it made him get out of the house again, I'd perform for as many people as he wanted as long as he was there for every performance. After he died, there was no reason for me to keep doing it."
"That doesn't explain why you stopped playing though."
I sighed, laying on my back and looking up at the ceiling.
"They say that a musicians' fingers is their lifeline but to me, I could break all ten of my fingers but as long as I had my passion, there was nothing that could ruin my melody. Music isn't just about precision, it's expression. You could be a genius but without that feeling... that passion... your music would fall flat."
I lifted my hand over my face, curling it into a fist.
"My passion was the source of my abilities. It was there in every note. Filled with aggression and chaos whenever I was in pain but when I was calm, it was serene and beautiful. But then my muse left me and the passion that defined me as a musician lost in my grief. Every time I tried to play even a single note, my chest would twist as if a shard of glass was trying to pierce through my bones."
He frowned, cupping my cheek and wiping away the tears I didn't realize I had shed.
"Your grandfather was your muse."
I closed my eyes briefly, the memory of him clawing at my chest.
"My devotion to him was so absolute that when he died, my life became meaningless." I pursed my lips as my voice broke. "He was my mentor. My guide. My inspiration. My everything. When I lost him, I lost everything too. My passion. My purpose. My fucking mind." I let out a harsh breath. "I will never forgive him for leaving me."
"He died, Angel," Rick said softly. "He didn't choose to leave you."
I scoffed. "Lastor International is heralded as the leading figure in the healthcare industry. We offer the best cancer treatment in the world and his research has been the closest we've ever gotten to a cure. I've read his file so many times that every detail of it is ingrained in brain. He had lied about his diagnosis. He wasn't terminal. The cancer hadn't spread beyond his left lung and through aggressive chemotherapy, it could have been shrunk enough that removing the tumor wouldn't pose any serious risks to his longterm health. He knew all that but he still refused to be treated. He didn't die. He fucking killed himself."
I groaned as tears escaped my eyes and I roughly wiped them away.
"I refuse to mourn him. He doesn't deserve my grief. He was a liar, an idiot, and a fucking coward and I hate him. I really fucking hate him."
Rick held me to him, wrapping his arms around me so tightly it was as if he was afraid to fall apart. I've never cried for Gramps. I'd gotten into fights, destroyed things, tried to kill myself, and drugged myself so much I got rushed to the ER four times within six months following his death but I never cried. I never allowed myself to because crying would mean grieving and in order to grieve, I would have to accept his death.
Accepting his death meant accepting the guilt and I don't think I would live if I did that because I knew, if I had been there for him during his last moments, I could have convinced him to accept treatment. But I wasn't. I had been so angry at him when he told me he refused treatment that I left him when he needed me the most. I was the most precious thing in his life and I treated him like shit. How was I supposed to live with that?
* * *
We laid on the stage for hours, arms around each other, and silence cloaking us. We didn't even do anything and yet, I felt at peace. For once, I didn't have to fight anything. He... calmed me. Calmed me the way an ice cold bath would. Calmed me the way a few drops of heroin would in my veins.
Every time I let myself think of the things Rick pulled out of me, I was tempted to run. His mere presence brought me to unfamiliar grounds, some place that I still feared because I didn't know what it offered me and I was afraid that it would only give me the same thing everything in my life offered, pain. But still, I stayed. The way he stayed even after everything I've shown him.
It was dawn when we finally left the hall and I had to call the mansion for a driver to pick us up because Rick had run out of cash for a cab and I didn't have any money on me.
The drive back was quicker than I anticipated and I hated it. It was then I realized I had grown far too used to his presence.
"Do you want me to come up?" Rick asked when I remained seated and staring at the godforsaken mansion.
"No. Jude's probably waiting for me," I said, sighing. "God, he's such a pain in the ass."
He smiled. "He just cares about you, you know."
"Yeah." I rested my head against the window and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "You wanna go to Houston? My best friend is doing a show there later for her tour."
He chuckled lightly. "I would love to but I have work today."
"I can take care of that."
"No, I don't want to abuse the privilege of being acquainted with the Lastor Siblings," he muttered wryly, kissing my shoulder. "Tonight's been an adventure. Thank you."
"Life's a constant adventure, sweetheart," I murmured, flicking his forehead. "You just gotta cut the restraints you've put on yourself and embrace the unpredictability of living."
He bit his lip, shaking his head. "You're really something else, Angel Lastor."
I smirked, tugging at his collar and giving him a quick kiss as I slipped his phone from his pocket. I dialed my number and saved it in his contact list.
"For when you're bored of living a predictable existence," I said, tossing the phone back to him before getting out of the car. "Later."
"Hey, wait," he called as he rolled down the window.
I bent down, tilting my head. "Hm?"
"Let's do that dinner," he said in a commanding tone. And yet, his eyes showed evident anxiety.
I sighed, leaning forward to rest an arm over the open window. "You're never gonna quit, are you?"
"Good. You finally noticed."
I snickered, shaking my head. "I like lilies and forget-me-nots."
"Is that your Angel way of saying yes?"
I leaned forward, kissing him. "You'll regret me," I murmured against his lips.
"I already do."
"Asshole."
I kissed him again, pulling away quickly before I decided to crawl back to him. I straightened, slapping the roof of the car twice before heading inside the mansion.
When I entered my room, the sight of my mother standing by my window had me taking an abrupt step back. I couldn't remember her ever coming into my room before. Ever. She barely even spared me a glance in this house.
I cleared my throat and she turned, the wicked woman in her that she often hid out in the open. She raked her eyes over me, her lips set in a grim line as she slowly stalked towards me, her pace careful, and even with no audience, she was still the most graceful woman I've ever known.
I used to admire her when I was younger, until I realized admiring her and striving to be like her only made her hate me more. She wanted nothing to do with the bastard daughter of the monster she calls her husband.
"How long have you been fucking that boy?" she demanded.
I stiffened, my fingers gripping the material of my dress as I kept my arms firmly at my sides.
"A few weeks," I answered, my voice indifferent.
Her eyes narrowed down at me and I tried not to get affected with her presence but this woman had me gripping onto my sanity by merely looking at me.
"What have you told him?"
I swallowed hard, knowing full well what she meant.
"Nothing."
In a flash, she gripped my cheeks, squeezing tightly while one hand fisted at my hair. I didn't flinch.
"I know he saw me and Andre," she hissed, her nails digging into the flesh of my cheeks. "If he even so much as speaks a word about me to anyone, I will make you regret ever thinking you had a chance at something better, petite pute."
I gritted my teeth, my hands curling into fists as I felt my rage stir from its slumber, the pain of her nails digging deeper into my cheeks becoming nothing but a careless pinch.
"Don't you dare touch him," I said before I could hold my tongue.
She merely looked down at me, her beautiful face emotionless and yet her eyes were filled with so much hatred it nearly scalded me. And then she smiled, the sight of it mocking me.
"What's this? Have you forgotten who you are, bâtarde? Hm?"
She slapped me. I struggled to control myself.
"You think he'll want you if he finds out that you're a worthless scum who whores herself around for attention?" she spat, her native accent growing thicker. "Don't fool yourself, petit pute. He'll throw you away once he realizes you have nothing to offer him but your disease ridden cunt," she hissed, disdain dripping from her words. "If I didn't agree to keep you, you'd be out in the streets fucking scums like you for a meal. What do you think is going to happen? That you're going to live happily ever after?"
She scoffed, dragging her nails and tearing the flesh of cheeks.
"You owe your life to me. We own you. You fuck who we tell you to fuck. You breathe when we tell you to breathe. Never forget your place. If you don't stop seeing him, I will tell Anthony and, fais-moi confiance, petite pute, that boy is going to be the one suffering the consequences of your stupidity once your father finds out you've been dragging this family down again."
"Mother."
She froze at the sound of Jude's gruff voice. She immediately ripped her hands away from me as her head snapped over to the door. She brought out a smile. So fucking perfect.
"Chéri... you frightened me!"
"What's happening here?" Jude asked coolly.
"We were just having a chat, chéri," she cooed while I kept my head down.
"About what?"
"About our family," she stated simply, three simple words meaning so much more.
"Angel, look at me," Jude ordered.
I pursed my lips, slowly lifting my head to face him. His eyes were on me instantly and I caught them glare at sight of what I assumed were the marks Mother had left on my skin.
"You gave me your word, Mother. You disappoint me," he growled lowly.
She staggered back as if he had shoved her with his words.
"I'm your mother and you're going to take this bâtarde's side?!" she spluttered out in disbelief. "I'm only protecting us! She's running around sharing things to that Jewish boy with no care for our safety! She's unstable! It won't be long till she loses her mind and who knows what she'll do then! Our family barely survived that horrendous scandal she did to gain attention! Do you want it to happen again?"
"That's enough!" he snarled. "Get out. Don't ever come in here again."
She scoffed, turning her attention on me.
"For once, bâtarde, stop being a selfish brat and actually do something good for this family instead of ruining us for your own sick entertainment. I refuse to let you drag us down to the gutters again."
"Merde Mère! Get out!" Jude snapped.
With a huff, she marched out the room. Jude took a steadying breath as he passed me a glance. I turned away, keeping my head up and refusing to let him see me break.
"Leave. Go to your mother." I said, my voice flat and empty.
"Little Angel…"
I screwed my eyes shut. "Please, let me pretend I still have my dignity."
"We'll talk later," he said before turning for the door and I was left alone in this empty room.
I wanted to scream.
* * *
In my short denim skirt and an old band t-shirt that I had long outgrown, both in size and interest, I stood out amongst the parade of cashmere sweaters and plaid outfits the members seemed to willingly wear for some reason.
Jude had dragged me along with him to Trinity County's shamefully overpriced elitist country club where he was meeting some potential business associates and, while Mother went off to the tennis court with her minions, or friends, he had me driving him around the golf course as punishment for sneaking out of the party yesterday.
I was laid across the seat, my Converse resting on the steering wheel, with my earphones tucked in as I waited for Jude to wrap the game and seal the business deal.
It has been four dreary hours and they were finally hitting the eighteenth hole. How they've managed to maintain their enthusiasm and interest, I had no fucking idea. It went without saying that I despised this excruciatingly dull sport.
I felt something tap my shin and I lifted my aviators as I sat up.
"You better have won," I muttered as Jude handed his club to the caddie.
"Just two points short, unfortunately."
I rolled my eyes. "So you did win."
He managed to smile, removing his glove and slapping it against my thigh.
"Move."
I slid to the side, letting him settle on the passenger seat.
"I don't get why you always let them win," I muttered as I drove. "Isn't the purpose of doing business while playing a game is to impress them?"
"Today wasn't about impressing them, it was to let them appraise me and decide if they wanted to do business with me," he said while scrolling through his phone. "If I won, then I wouldn't have to ask for a rematch where I could spend another four hours impressing them."
"So you didn't even get the deal?" I scoffed. "What was the point of having me around then?"
He arched a brow, glancing at me. "I wanted to spend time with you, not flaunt you as a prize for them to fight over like a bunch of perverted old men. Everyone I do business with knows you're untouchable."
I rolled my eyes. "Whatever, can I go now? I already missed my flight to Houston for this pointless crap, I don't wanna miss my shift at the bar too."
"Have you told them about Cambridge?"
I sighed. "I don't wanna talk about Cambridge."
"Why? You having second thoughts?"
I frowned. "Course not. I just don't like thinking about leaving them."
He put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "Join me for dinner?"
"Do I even have a choice?"
"Not if you want your bike back."
"You've been saying that shit for weeks!" I complained.
"But now you've earned it."
He took out a key attached to the miniature piano keychain Rick had gifted me for my birthday from his pocket. I immediately reached for them but he held them away.
"Uh-uh. Dinner first."
I huffed out a breath. "Fine."
We went to the club's rooftop restaurant and were seated in our relugar table. Mother was still at the spa so we ordered ahead.
"So... you and Rick?" Jude began as we ate, failing to be nonchalant.
"How long have you been holding that in?"
"I was just asking," he said with a shrug. "So what's up with you two?"
"Nothing! We're just friends."
He took a sip of wine, eyeing me speculatively through the rim of his glass.
"Do I have to get an NDA prepared?"
My brows furrowed at his words. "What?"
He sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "You seem to be getting closer to him. What have you told him?"
I knew right then Mother had gotten inside his head, like always. Why was I not surprised? He was as fucked up in the head as I was. He only hid it better.
"Nothing," I hissed.
He fixed me with a hard look. "I can't protect you if you hide things from me, Gel."
"I don't need you to protect me dammit!"
"Just tell me what he knows," he pressed.
"Aside from me screaming in my sleep and the obvious fact that I'm an alcoholic and a drug addict; nothing else," I spat before downing my wine and pouring myself another glass.
Jude's face hardened at my words. He hated it whenever I called myself that. An alcoholic who'd choose vodka over water any day. A drug addict who can't breathe without snow shoved up her nose. He hated it because it was true.
"You can't let him in, Gel," he said quietly as he cut his steak. "It's not safe for you and Rick doesn't deserve to get mixed up in our world."
His words ticked at my head. True, Rick deserved better. Not me. Not this.
"You think I don't know that? I've been trying to get rid of him ever since I met him. The fucking idiot just won't take a goddamn hint."
"Are you sure about that? I'm not blind, Gel. I see the way you two act around each other and you've spent more time with him than you ever have with me for the past decade."
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
He looked at me for a moment, raking his eyes over me. "Are you falling in love with him, little Angel?"
His question caught me off guard, blindsided me, hit me where I didn't expect. What the hell?
I fixed him with a hard glare, curling my hands into fists. "We both know I'm not capable of such a thing."
He sighed, shaking his head. "That's what you've made yourself believe. You're still a human being and I know you. When you love, you never stop. That's why you're so fucking miserable," he spat, running a hand through his hair. "If you're going to keep being around him, he needs to sign an NDA. We can't take risks. I don't want you to get hurt because of this."
My body bristled with uncontained fury at his audacity and I immediately pushed it down, not wanting to beat my brother bloody in the middle of dinner.
"I trust him."
A strange look filled his eyes as he looked at me.
"He would never intentionally do anything that would cause anyone harm. He's too good for that."
I rubbed my temples, my headache was getting worse and it wasn't even because I was hung over. I had woken up soaked in cold sweat, my panting the only thing that could be heard in the room.
My demons had dressed themselves up as a beautiful woman with beautiful blonde hair and an even more beautiful face, her pearls lined up perfectly around her neck as she locked me inside a small wooden chest for hours.
My cries were useless as she cursed me, accusing me of being a thief and that I deserved whatever terrible thing that would happen to me because I was just a worthless scum and that I ruined her life.
I could still remember that day as if it happened not so long ago. I was twelve then. Mother had found me playing dress up inside her closet and kicked me out. Literally kicked me until I was out of her room. Later that day, she dragged me back to her room and accused me of stealing a piece of jewelry.
She'd hit me repeatedly on the head, pinched my gut hard enough to leave marks, slapped me so much the inside of my cheeks bled. When after all that I still denied everything, that I really was just playing around with her clothes, she shaved all my hair off and locked me inside a wooden chest.
It was so dark and I remembered being so terrified. I kept crying, screaming, and kicking till I passed out. When I woke up, I was on my bed and Jude was tending to the cuts on my scalp.
"Your insomnia is getting worse again," Jude suddenly said. "What's bothering you?"
I shrugged. "Just some anxiety, you know, the usual," I said, trying to sound dismissive.
He sighed and tossed his fork aside before rubbing his face with both palms. He was beating himself up about it, as if he was personally responsible for the chemical imbalance in my brain.
"Stop worrying, I'll manage," I assured him.
"No, you're going away and I won't be there to take care of you. What if it happens again, Gel? I'm not going to be just a few feet away anymore." He let out a frustrated breath. "I just can't stand the thought of you being all alone."
I frowned. I thought he was happy about Cambridge. He'd talk about it so enthusiastically that I was getting excited myself. The thought of leaving him to go somewhere far away on my own to fend for myself scared me to hell and back, but I wasn't going to back out now.
"It's not going to happen again, Jude," I tried to reassure him.
"What if you could just stay here, Gel?" he said in a soft voice.
I flinched at his suggestion, incredulous that he'd even say that.
"No."
"Angel... I just..." He sighed. "I worry about you all the time. You mean to me more than anyone. I'm your brother, I'm supposed to protect you."
I scoffed. "You know what? I'm so sick of you making everything I do about you. Just because you own my life, doesn't mean you get to tell me how to live it."
"That's not what-"
"I'm done talking about this," I cut in. "Drop it or I'm leaving."
He pursed his lips and nodded in resignation. The rest of the meal was filled with eerie silence and I knew he was holding himself back to make more points, and I'd bet they were reasonable ones. But just for once, I wanted to be right.
Cambridge was the right choice and I've made my decision. If I backed out now, I'd just prove him right that I wasn't strong enough to stand on my own two feet. I had to prove, not to him or anyone, but to myself, that I wasn't just going to be the inconvenient waste of space that our parents deemed me to be. For once, I didn't choose something destructive and I wanted it so much to be right.